


Undying

by tresa_cho



Category: Doom (2005), Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst, M/M, Other, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-22
Updated: 2011-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-15 21:10:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tresa_cho/pseuds/tresa_cho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Grimm is used to disappearing, but he's not used to someone trying to find him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undying

Jim twisted the knob silently, stepping onto the landing and carefully shutting the door behind him. Apartment three twenty six. Just off the stairway. He spied the door immediately and walked to it, reaching into his pocket for the few hairpins he had lifted from the supremely helpful lady in the lobby. He stuck one between his teeth to pry it open and crouched until the old-fashioned pin-lock was eye-level. The shaking hadn't started yet.

He smiled wryly as the lock popped for him with a gentle click. He straightened and after a quick glance down either side of the hall, let himself in. The man who owned the apartment was known to be solitary and never took anyone home. It wouldn't help if any of the neighbours saw a strange man entering the premises.

He flicked the lights on as he closed and re-locked the door behind him. His hesitant steps were loud in the oppressing silence of the small studio. A rather unspacious sofa bed hugged one wall, a dark blue blanket thrown over it almost as an afterthought. Clothes were strewn over the floor without care. Jim stopped, knelt, and grasped a shirt with now-shaking hands. He felt ridiculous, holding it to his nose, but he had to be sure. A cautious sniff of the coarse fabric confirmed what he had discovered while questioning the townspeople.

Despite how ridiculous he felt, he clenched the fabric tight in his fists as he made his way around the rest of the studio. One corner had been cordoned off, set up with an array of lights and camera equipment. A photographer's studio. So that's what he'd been doing all this time... Taking holos of people? Jim's stomach clenched hard as his eyes swept the room.

There were no identifying knick-knacks at all. Nothing that would give the slightest hint of who lived here aside from a rather messy photographer. No old photographs, no cards from friends or family. It was just like when Jim had been forced to go through Bones' effects. He hadn't realised how little he actually knew about the man until his death had blindsided him. As captain, it was his duty to send the dead's effects to next of kin, but Jim was stunned by what he had found going through Bones' paraphernalia.

Nothing.

That was precisely what he found. A lot of nothing. Sure, he owned medical books and PADDs and kept files on all his patients, but other than that...

He had no photographs, no letters from his ex, no high school yearbook... When Jim thought about it, the man hadn't even admitted his favourite brand of cologne. The oddity of it all hadn't hit Jim until it was necessary for Jim to sift through their quarters to separate out what he wanted to keep after... after...

Jim grit his teeth, refusing to recall that day. He found himself standing in a modest kitchen. Piles of dirty dishes threatened to spill over onto the floor from the sink, and Jim found the first tendrils of doubt creep into his mind. He'd never let the dishes build up like that. He was a neat freak. Hell, he had been a doctor. Germs! Bacteria! All manner of Bad Things! Jim smirked, in his head replaying a rant Bones had delivered one particular night after Jim had spent the afternoon swimming in a little-known public pond just outside the Academy. The rant had ended with Bones throwing him in the shower and scrubbing him down.

Their first kiss.

Jim finally forced himself to drop the shirt on the floor once more and move to the tiny bathroom in the studio. It was sparsely decorated, with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and a nondescript cup. That was more like him. A plain white curtain blocked off the shower. There was no bathmat.

Jim made his way back into the studio proper and sank into the sofa bed. From here, he had a clear view of the door. Anyone entering would notice him instantly. It was perfect.

He leaned back and let his head rest on the top of the sofa cushions as the sun wheeled in the sky, sending suffocating midday warmth into a humid, orange and purple dusk. His heart wouldn't slow its panicked thundering. He clenched and unclenched his hands, antsy for something to do. He focused on breathing deeply, trying to steady himself. All the meditation Spock had taught him over the years was not helping. He'd have to complain when he saw the Vulcan next.

The deep breathing helped slightly, but merely set his mind on the various paths this encounter could take. On his way to this planet, he had run through several different scenarios and figured that a nonchalant greeting would be most comfortable for both of them. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a casual, easy 'Hey, Bones'. Yea, that would work. Or something clever, like 'Nice digs. You expecting company?' No, too over the top. He exhaled sharply, frustrated with himself. Triumph warred with anticipation, both threatening his relatively calm state of being. He closed his eyes and consciously forced his leg to stop twitching. The creaking floorboard was getting on his nerves.

He picked up footsteps outside the door and his heart stopped beating. He forced himself to breathe in as a shadow fell under the door and the knob turned. There was a slight hesitation before a key entered the lock and turned. Jim leaned forward on the couch, trying and failing to look disinterested. His heart was going to careen out of his chest. The door cracked adjacent a hair, and then slammed open against the opposite wall.

Jim leaped to his feet, arms in the air as the man at the door leveled a pistol at him. The ringing from the man's entrance quieted and the room became silent.

The gun lowered.

“ _Fuck_.” Jim and the man breathed at the same time.

Jim recovered first. Bones stood before him. His appearance was different, but undeniably him. And he hadn't aged a day. Let Bones' hair grow out, long enough to make a small horsetail at the nape of his neck, put him in the sun for years to lighten his hair and darken his skin, and...

“A gauge!?” Jim grasped onto the first thing his brain could manage to comprehend. Jim could see through Bones' earlobe. Literally.

“I'm sorry, do I know you?” the man asked. Nobody else would have noticed the small tremor in his voice. The gun hung limp in his hand as he stared at Jim with those eyes. Those eyes Jim would never forget. “How did you get in here?”

“I... I let myself in...” Jim breathed. His mouth was so dry...

“Well, you can let yourself _out_ too,” the man with Bones' face said, gesturing to the open door. Jim flicked his eyes from the door to Bones.

“Bones-”

“ _Stop_ ,” the man snapped, cutting him off. He blanched, and then cleared his throat. “Please leave.”

“You're not a day older,” Jim choked out. His legs gave out and he sank onto the couch under him. The room seemed to spin. “Bones... What's going on?”

The man sighed, switching the gun to his other hand and slamming the door shut in one smooth motion. He released the trigger and slid the magazine out, dropping it on the kitchen counter as he slid the pistol into the waistband of his trousers. “How the hell did you find me?” he finally asked, voice rough.

“It wasn't easy,” Jim chuckled hysterically, swiping a hand over his face. “Oh god.” He buried his face in his hands, trying to get a hold of himself. “Oh my god. This is what you didn't want me to see.” His heart pounded so hard he feared he may actually pass out. “All these years... I thought... I didn't know what to think... I've gone over so many situations. I thought you might be special ops, or you witnessed something and had to go into protection... but this... _Shit_.”

“Leonard McCoy is dead,” Bones said quietly. “He died fifteen years ago.”

“I don't understand,” Jim groaned. “This... is not how it was supposed to go.” He stood. “I was supposed to meet up with you and we'd be... together...” His voice trailed off. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “What are you?” he finally burst out. He had wondered what became of the doctor, what the years would have done to him. Deepen his frown marks at the curve of his lips. Possibly a tangle of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes... His hair would salt and pepper just like Jim's. Eventually.

“I'm sorry, Jim.” Bones' voice broke around his name. He clenched his jaw tightly and visibly calmed himself. “I can't tell you. You don't have clearance.”

“I'm a four star admiral,” Jim said quietly, feeling anger sink into his chest. “Like _hell_ I don't have clearance.” Bones stared at him, a bit wide eyed.

“I knew you'd do great things,” he said softly. Jim didn't miss the dodge.

“Bones,” Jim said sharply.

“Stop. Bones is gone. He's long dead,” he said.

“Why am I standing in a room with the Leonard McCoy I met on a dingy Starfleet shuttle over twenty years ago?” Jim asked.

“Keep your voice down,” Bones said, raising his hands to try and calm Jim. “You're going to blow my cover.”

“So you _are_ special ops,” Jim guessed.

“Sort of,” Bones said. He glanced at Jim's waist. “Give me your communicator.” Jim handed it over without hesitation. Bones took it in both hands, holding it up so Jim could see it. Then he snapped it in half as if it were a twig. Jim's eyes bulged.

“Are you human?” Jim managed.

“Yes. I've been enhanced with another chromosome. It's a really long story.” Bones sighed heavily. He shifted from foot to foot, and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I guess the best way to sum it up is that I'm an immortal super-soldier. Nobody's found a way to kill me yet, and I don't age at the same rate you do.”

The information sank into Jim's head.

“I'm dead,” he concluded woodenly. “I'm dead, and this is some godawful hallucination in the after-life. God.” He moaned pathetically. “This can't be happening.”

“I'm sorry, Jim,” Bones said again in that same voice.

“Stop apologizing,” Jim ground out. “You have no idea what I've been through the last fifteen years. There was no body, Bones. It was a closed casket funeral. They wouldn't let me see the body. It drove me crazy. No, I mean, Spock sedated me and I spent a few weeks in a ward. There was no closure.” He could still remember the bleak whiteness of the facility. The feeling that he'd never be warm again, only exposed to the chill, smooth white of the floors and ceiling and chairs... “And then I thought you were on some sort of special ops team that nobody had told me about, because hey, I'm just the captain I don't need to know that sort of thing...” He was aware he was rambling. Bones slowly closed the distance between them, taking small, hesitant steps towards the Admiral breaking down before his eyes. Jim let out a hysterical laugh.

“I put out a feeler for you through my network and when something came back, a whisper of a rumor, I thought _I_ had done something- Don't _touch_ me,” he snapped when Bones reached for him with shaking fingers. Bones withdrew his hand, clenching it into a fist at his side silently. “Everyone in my life left. Everyone. And _you_ were the one person who was constant for years. And then you were _gone_. I couldn't let you go. _Shit_ ,” he swore violently, putting distance between him and the sun-warmed man wearing Bones' face. “And now I'm going crazy again. _Shit_.”

“You're not crazy,” Bones murmured. He reached again and Jim shied. “Jim, _please_.” The broken plea was almost enough to send Jim to his knees. He stretched out a hand gingerly, running his fingers up Bones' firmly muscled arm. Bones closed the distance between them and swept Jim into a crushing hug. Jim moaned and melted into the embrace with a barely contained sob. His body still remembered. As soon as Bones' arms closed around him, his mind stilled, all emotions soothing instantly as if someone had flicked a switch.

“God, Bones,” Jim whispered. “You literally haven't changed a bit.”

“I know,” Bones murmured back. Jim could feel him shake, pulled close against his body.

“I guess this makes me the old man, now,” Jim said with a weak chuckle. Bones' body flexed around him as the younger man sighed heavily.

“Not exactly,” Bones said, his voice rumbling through Jim's body reassuringly. Jim buried his face in the sheer fabric of Bones' blouse, trying to get closer. Bones' hand found his hair as he started talking, started telling the story that had begun in Olduvai over _two hundred years ago_. Jim's heart stilled, slowing to its normal pace as Bones' words rolled through him. Words of blood and horror, of what he and his team had found on Mars. Of why the station had been shut down for so long, and then nuked out of existence. Jim gave himself up to Bones' absent ministrations as the sun finally set, blanketing them in serene darkness as light from the street filtered through the lone window in the studio.

Jim felt slight resistance when he pulled back, and instantly realised why. He touched Bones' wet cheek tenderly. Bones mimicked his motion, surprise evident on his face. “Huh,” he murmured. “Didn't think I could still do that...” He scraped at the tears on his cheeks. “No one's been able to track me down before.”

“I don't believe in no-win situations,” Jim whispered, a little smirk lifting his lips. Bones drew his hand through Jim's hair before pulling him close again. Jim didn't mind.

“I could stand here forever,” Bones muttered hoarsely.

“You could,” Jim agreed lightly. He got a chuckle out of Bones at that, a chuckle that grew into a laugh. And then they were both laughing, and Bones' nose nudged his throat and jaw, and then Bones' lips closed over his. Jim opened his mouth against Bones' instantly, his body reacting to the one person who could offer stability and warmth. Bones walked him backwards to the sofa bed, and lowered them both onto it.

Bones hesitated, leaning over Jim warily. “Jim,” he rasped, looking nothing like the cocksure doctor Jim knew all those years ago. Jim felt the unsettling urge to wipe the look from his face.

“I'm not so old I can't still enjoy a good tumble,” Jim grumbled, digging his fingers into Bones' arms. Bones actually looked a little green at the thought, his pale face oddly coloured in the dim light drifting in from the window. He held himself up, tangled in Jim's legs. Jim lay on his back, staring fixedly at the ceiling as he blinked back frustration.

“We can't, Jim,” Bones finally said. “We can't... I can't start this again.”

“I'm not going anywhere, Bones...”

“You are, Jim,” Bones snapped. “Eventually you're going to die. Or you're going to realise that I'm still the young buck you threw down at the Academy and you'll leave. I've been through this too many times. I can't stand to go through it with you. Leaving you killed me, Jim. When I first got here they called me The Man Who Shed All His Tears. That's how miserable I was.” He ran a hand through his hair, face scrunched in agony as he unsettled his ponytail. Jim put his hand on the only thing he could reach, one of Bones' massive thighs, resting under his own leg. He pressed his hand hard into flesh, trying to reassure the man.

“I spent the last fifteen years looking for you,” Jim said quietly. “I would never leave you.”

“You didn't know I couldn't age,” Bones said. “You were expecting someone who had matured fifteen years with you.” He inhaled deeply. “I can't do it, Jim. I just can't. This was a mistake. You should go.” He tried to disentangle himself from Jim's limbs, but Jim gripped him tight.

“This doesn't change anything,” Jim said fiercely. “I'm not letting you go, Bones.”

“Stop calling me that,” Bones said, his voice breaking. “You're not making this easy for me.”

“Let's not even get started on that particular path, shall we?” Jim warned. “I searched for you for fifteen years. For fifteen years, I knew you were alive and I couldn't find you.” Bones shifted again, and Jim clenched his legs tighter around what he could hold onto of the man. Bones stopped moving, staring bleakly at Jim through the darkness.

“You're going to make me live through your death,” Bones whispered hoarsely. “You're going to refuse to leave, and then grow old and _die_ in my arms.” Jim swallowed thickly, forcing his heart back down into his chest where it belonged. “And tear me open again. Is that what you want, Jim?”

“I'll live forever,” Jim swore, his voice cutting through the quiet harshly. “If you can do it, I can do it.”

“That's not even funny, Jim,” Bones murmured, low and dangerous. “I won't do it to you. I didn't do it to Sam, and I won't do it to you.” Jim dug his fingers into Bones' thigh.

“You've been alone all this time, Bones,” he said. “Any other man would have gone crazy by now. You're still strong and making a difference in your own way. Don't do it alone anymore. You don't have to. I won't let you.”

“You want to give up everything you've ever known, everyone you've ever loved to hop from planet to planet with some hard-ass soldier without a soul?” Bones' voice was monotone. Jim stared at him, feeling hurt sink into his chest like a hot knife.

“Bones...” he started shakily. He was certain Bones could feel him tremble. “Everyone I've ever loved is right here in this room.” The silence that fell could have suffocated Jim if Bones hadn't been leaning over him, protecting him, breathing evenly through his shock.

The former CMO moved, not trying to get away anymore, but stretched out on the sofa bed over Jim's body, aligning himself so he pressed firmly against Jim everywhere. He rested his head on Jim's chest, gripping the front of Jim's shirt fiercely. Jim let his hand find Bones' back, rubbing warm, young skin through his light shirt. He held Bones tight to him as exhaustion swept through the soldier's body and he succumbed to sleep.

Jim couldn't follow. He couldn't take his eyes off the unconscious man. He let his fingers card through Bones' hair absently, his mind already made up. He had to find a way to live forever, or he had to find a way to kill Bones. Whatever Bones had done to himself could be duplicated. The medical technology today was much more advanced than it had been when he first 'mutated', as he had called it. It wouldn't be hard.

Jim sighed lightly, shifting fractionally. Bones responded instinctively, curling himself around Jim's body as if fifteen years didn't lie between them. Bones' impressively muscled body pressed hard into him, spreading warmth across every inch of Jim's skin. If Jim gripped him any tighter he'd wake him.

The next thing he knew, sunlight streamed over his eyes. He winced, blinking, as he tried to twist out of the grasping fingers of the sun. He heard voices at the door, low and hushed. Jim arched his neck, and just beyond the corner that sectioned off the kitchen he saw Bones standing at the door. It was casual to anyone else, but Jim noted his careful positioning and the way he was not-so-casually holding the door just barely open. Bones was hiding him from view.

Starfleet instincts kicked in and Jim rolled silently from the couch and crept across the room, placing himself firmly out of view of the door. He ignored the cramps in his body from sleeping in such an odd position. It wasn't long before the door clicked shut and Bones walked into view. Jim stared openly. Dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweats, the sun painted golden stripes across the planes of his chest as it poured through the window. Bones looked distinctly uncomfortable under the gaze, and ran a hand through his hair.

“Look, Jim, things are gonna get dicey around here soon,” he finally said gruffly, his voice hoarse from sleep. “It's not safe.”

Jim couldn't stand. He could barely breathe, watching Bones move before his eyes. “Let me help you,” he finally managed. Bones shook his head.

“I'm putting you on the first shuttle back to the Enterprise,” he said, striding past Jim into the kitchen. “You couldn't have picked a worse time to come.”

“Excuse me for disappearing fifteen years ago,” Jim said snidely. “Oh wait.” Bones ignored him, prepping what appeared to be an ancient coffee maker. Jim swallowed hard. His eyes unconsciously flicked to the remains of the communicator Bones had snapped in half last night. The Enterprise was long gone. He pushed himself to his feet, muscles clenching in protest from his night on the couch. “I can help you.”

“No, Jim. You're going to go straight to town and you're getting the hell out of here,” Bones said, pouring a cup of coffee. “I'll make sure you get onto a shuttle. Things are about to get real unpleasant-like for Federation folk.”

“You're Federation,” Jim pointed out, accepting the cup Bones held out for him. Jim curled his hands around it. It was too hot for warm coffee, but he felt as if he could touch Bones' lingering warmth on the ceramic. Man. He had it _bad_.

“Yes, but nobody knows that. I'd like to keep it that way,” Bones said. “There's a reason I have a gaping hole in my ear.” He smiled wryly. “I doubt it's in Starfleet regulations to have a gauge you can put a bullet through.” Jim found his attention fixed on the piercing.

“You can't put a bullet through that,” he finally said, when nothing else witty surfaced. “A Halpheisian dart, maybe. Not a bullet.” Bones smirked.

“The beach planet,” he recalled. Jim nodded, and equally devious smirk spreading across his lips.

“Traipsing through the jungle,” Jim prodded. Bones scowled.

“Yea, you caught fever,” he said, giving Jim a sideways glare. “And tried to molest me.”

“I was hot and you were cool,” Jim defended himself. “It was a natural reaction.”

“Sure it was,” Bones said snidely. An uncomfortable silence fell. Bones cleared his throat. “Jim, you have to go. I have to head out shortly, and you can't be here. You need to get off this planet. At least out of the city. Getting shot with actual bullets is not fun.”

“I've been shot before,” Jim said petulantly. Bones glared at him. Jim sighed. “Okay, I'll stay here. I'll wait for you. We're not through with our... talk thing. Okay?” Bones glanced at the door, with its barely-there chain lock and deadbolt. Jim felt his skin crawl as he looked at the shanty protection Bones had been living in the last fifteen years. Those would cave instantly if someone so much as kicked. “I'll be fine here.”

“You have your phasor?” Bones asked. Jim nodded. The former CMO sighed heavily. “I can't believe I'm doing this. Stay here. I mean it, Jim,” he ordered. Jim nodded, his eyes narrowing. Part of him rebelled at the order, but he knew that if Bones was here, the mission had to be dangerous. The Federation didn't just send immortal super-soldiers anywhere.

“I will. I might even get adventurous and make you lunch,” Jim joked. Bones didn't smile. A flash of light struck out in the distance, followed by a rumble that rattled the window. They both turned.

“I have to go,” Bones said tightly. When Jim turned back to him, he was holstering several Google-era side-arms.

“Do you want a phasor?” Jim asked, feeling apprehension climb up his throat.

“Can't. It'd blow my cover,” Bones drawled. “Shot or be shot, the old fashioned way. These are more comfortable anyway.” He gave a weak grin, sliding the magazine into one of the pistols. It didn't look right, seeing Bones holding one of those barbaric weapons. “I never could get behind sonic weapons. I prefer something more solid.” The magazine clicked into place, the sound echoing in the quiet. “I'll be back,” Bones said. Jim couldn't do anything but nod as his former CMO opened the door and slammed it behind him.

Jim walked to the door and slid the chain-lock into place, and then threw the deadbolt. Bones lived alone. He'd have to stay out of sight of the window and make no noise at all until Bones got back. He stared at the empty flat. His eyes fell on the sofa bed. Well. More sleep couldn't hurt. He carefully slipped past the window and flopped onto the bed. Their shared warmth still permeated the fabric. He sighed. Slowly, lulled by the sheer heat of the sun pouring through the window, he fell asleep.

Only to be wakened by rough hands grasping his shoulders and hauling him upright. His phasor clattered to the floor uselessly. He struck out instantly, freeing himself. The person who grabbed him let out a gasp of surprise which Jim silenced by driving a fist into his jaw. He dropped. Jim lifted his eyes to see four men standing around him.

“You're outnumbered, old man.”

“You're going to need more men,” Jim growled. It had been a long while since he'd had a decent tussle, but that didn't mean he had lost it. The smirk on the men's faces clearly displayed their disbelief. Jim let an evil grin streak over his lips. He launched himself at two of them, and within moments had them pinned beneath him.

Jim kicked out as a third dove, and the strike sent him careening into the sofa bed. It caved with a resounding crack, and the man lay still. The two under him wriggled free, but not before delivering a stunning blow to his head. He reeled, gasping, forcing himself to focus as the room spun. He lashed out with his foot again, cracking one man's knee. He collapsed, howling, but wasn't finished. He latched onto Jim's leg as one of the other men lunged. Jim dropped his shoulder, intending to meet the hurtle, and felt the blade of a knife insert itself neatly into his ribs.

“God _dammit_ ,” Jim hissed fiercely as white-hot pain flashed through his side, temporarily paralyzing him. His legs wouldn't obey, and he fell to the floor. Like hell he was out, though. His phasor was in clear reach now, and he stretched, grasping it before forcing himself to roll and snapped off four shots in quick succession. The attackers fell, and the room lapsed into utter silence once more save Jim's harsh breathing. “Fuck,” he groaned, glancing at the wound. It was bleeding. Bastard had pulled the knife out too. Annoying.

Without much remorse he switched his phasor away from Stun and delivered the five men to their maker. He'd let Bones deal with the bodies. He was a doctor. He should be good at that stuff.

Speaking of doctoring...

Jim blinked back the fuzzy haze crowding his vision as his eyes swept the flat. Surely a former doctor would at least have a first aid kit around somewhere... Bandages... Anything... But no, Jim could see the roll of toilet paper hanging in the bathroom, and the ratty gray towel and that was it. Nothing.

“He's inhuman,” Jim muttered to himself, awe settling in. Everyone had band-aids. Everyone. What kind of flat didn't have a first aid kit? “Stupid question,” Jim answered himself out loud. “Immortal super-soldier. Ugh.” Jim crawled over to the man who had managed to score the painful hit and grasped the very knife that had struck him. He collapsed against the wall under the window, panting, and sawed through his regulation shirt with effort.

He tied the strips of his shirt around the wound, yanking the knot tight with a repressed hiss of pain. He couldn't really feel his legs... that had to be a bad sign. Stupid backwards planet... Why couldn't they just use phasors like civilised people? And why the hell hadn't he woken up when he heard the door open? Christ. He was getting old...

He heard the door creak just as the shivering started. Bones entered the room, eyes instantly finding him. He completely ignored the five dead men lying on his floor and strode to Jim, crouching beside him swiftly. “Dammit, Jim,” he muttered, hands skimming the make-shift bandage. “This is soaked through already. I've got to get you to a hospital.”

“You're a doctor,” Jim gasped, confused.

“I'm _not a doctor anymore_ ,” Bones said, his voice tight with barely restrained fury. He hissed out his breath in frustration. “I should have put you on that damn shuttle.”

“D-Doesn't matter,” Jim choked out. Bones stilled, his hands pressed firmly to Jim's side in an effort to stop the bleeding. “Enterprise is g-gone.” Jim inhaled sharply, forcing the words out through grit teeth. “Told Spock to leave if h-he didn't hear from me in twenty-four hours.” Bones paled. “Y-You snapped my comm, you b-bastard,” Jim chuckled deliriously. He somehow moved his hands over Bones'. “ 's okay, Bones. 's okay. 'm here for good.”

“Cale? Cale? Oh shit!”

Both men twisted to see a young woman standing in Bones' hall, hands fisted over her mouth. Her vibrant red hair stood out starkly against the green of her dress. She turned wide, horrified eyes to Bones. She gasped again when she saw Jim. “Oh my god. Is he all right?”

“No, he's bleeding out. Do you have a needle and thread?” Bones asked. She nodded, her curls bouncing. “And disinfectant?” She nodded again, turning and bolting from the flat.

“Pretty,” Jim commented with effort.

“Young enough to be your daughter,” Bones pointed out, cuffing Jim's ear gently. Jim leaned into the touch, welcome warmth cutting through the chill in his bones. Heh. Bones. “Whoa, Jim. Hang on. Stay with me, Jim.”

Bones' voice faded into darkness.

The pain was sharp when he came to himself once more, stinging in his side when he breathed. But he was breathing, shockingly. He inhaled once more, just to be certain. Yes. Definitely breathing. Which meant Bones had put on his old hat and fixed him. Sort of.

He turned his head. Bones had put him on the cushions of the sofa, laid out on the floor. The woman was still there, chin tucked up on Bones' shoulder as he hid his face in the sanctuary of his bent knees. Her red curls blended intimately with Bones' straight brown, and with the sun pouring through the window along the curves of their bodies, Jim could almost imagine they were lovers.

“Am I still bleeding?” Jim slurred hoarsely, catching both their attention. The girl looked at him with fierce eyes as Bones uncurled himself, crawling over the floor to kneel beside Jim.

“No, I stopped the blood loss. But you have to get to a hospital. I don't have any equipment here to do anything else.” Bones stared at him, his face deathly pale.

“I'll heal up,” Jim murmured, closing his eyes so he didn't have to see the pain in Bones' gaze.

“Jim, you're not twenty anymore,” Bones said brokenly. “This isn't going to just go away after a night's rest. I _can't fix this_.”

“You can,” Jim said quietly, so the girl couldn't overhear. Each breath was a struggle. Pain lanced through him with every inhalation. “I'm ready, Bones.”

“No, Jim,” Bones maintained. The girl unfolded herself from her position and stood, placing a hand on Bones' shoulder.

“I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning the rags,” she whispered in Bones' ear. Bones nodded. She bent, scooped up a pile of bloodied cloths, and moved around the divider that separated the kitchen from the rest of the flat.

“Bones, please,” Jim pleaded, arching as a fierce flash of pain rode him.

“I can't do it to you, Jim,” Bones said wretchedly. “I can't. I wouldn't be able to live with myself.”

“Then tell me how to do it,” Jim panted. “I'm conscious, I'm consenting... Please, Bones.”

“Come on, Jim, be realistic,” Bones countered gently, his hands finding Jim's hair. “You'd hate me in a few years, after the novelty wears off.” Jim closed his eyes, leaning into the touch. “I won't do it, Jim.” Jim slipped from consciousness once more, Bones' name on his lips.

The steady beeping of a machine drew him from darkness next. He groaned, smelling sterile sheets and antiseptic. He was in a clean room. A hospital?

He felt a touch of calloused fingers against his cheek, but when he opened his eyes he was alone. The whisper of the curtain was the only movement in the room.

He painfully pushed himself up against the pillows. The old-style mattress creaked under him. Box springs? No wonder his back ached. Small snaps of pain twisted through his ribs as he moved, reminding him exactly why he was in a hospital, attached to several huge, clunky machines by leads. He frowned in annoyance and tugged the electrodes free of his skin. The door to his room opened.

“Good evening, sir.” A well-dressed man entered the room, his hands clasped behind his back. “I've arrived to escort you safely to a Federation embassy to await evacuation.”

“There's been a mistake,” Jim said, voice scratchy. “What happened to the man who brought me here?”

“You were brought in by a local woman,” the man said, confusion twisting his lips slightly. “She claims she found you at one of the riot sites. You're lucky to be alive, sir. Reaction to the Federation has not been tame in this quadrant of the planet.”

Jim inhaled and exhaled slowly, grounding himself.

“We are aware that your shuttle malfunctioned and you were unable to contact anyone from Starfleet. You will be returned to your ship without further delay,” the man said. “I hate to rush you, sir, but we have scarce little time. If you'll follow me, please.”

“What about the doctors?” Jim asked, standing from the bed. He had been changed into a clean set of clothes. Local clothes. They hung loosely around his body, as if made for someone taller and broader.

“Your care has been paid for already,” the man said with an urgent wave of his hand. “The doctors have cleared you to return to your ship. Your native lady did a fine job of patching you up, if I say so myself.”

“Remember your place, lieutenant,” Jim said sharply. The man jerked, grin sliding off his face instantly. Jim fell into step behind him as the man led him out of the hospital, his head buzzing. Bones had slipped away again. Chances were he had left the planet already, moving towards his next assignment in some far-off sector of the universe until everyone who knew him on the Enterprise died of old age. There was no point in even returning to the decrepit flat. He wasn't there and he was too good to leave a hint to his future path.

Jim was already thinking about which file servers to hack by the time he beamed aboard the Enterprise. Spock waited for him, the only hint that he was surprised to see his captain was a small quirk of his eyebrow. To Jim, it spoke volumes.

“He got away again, Spock,” was all he said as he stormed past Spock and towards his quarters. Spock pursed his lips.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, before turning on his heel to follow Jim, intent on helping him restart his search for their wayward CMO. Jim only vaguely registered he was being followed. Bones could run, but he couldn't run forever, and Starfleet would station him _somewhere_ in the known universe. He'd find him. He'd done it once, and he could do it again. He didn't care that this was possibly the most selfish thing he'd ever done in his life. He'd keep finding him until his last breath was punched from his body.


End file.
